


sweet music playing in the dark

by lionoflannistarth (eldritch_beau)



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It, Jaime Lives AU thats how we ride or die folks, also known as Jaime is hopelessly in love with Brienne, and he's a Bottomass bitch but we all been knew, and then the tooth-rotting fluff because jb deserve this, but a lot of Jaime being absolutely RIDICULOUSLY in love with Ser Brienne of Tarth, s8 fix it, slight angst maybe, this is some chucklefuckle fluff yall, this is the great jb fixit fest, this started as self-therapy, tv-canon compliance? we dont know her. its only canon-divergence from here on out babey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-10
Updated: 2019-06-10
Packaged: 2020-04-24 06:27:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,483
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19167661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eldritch_beau/pseuds/lionoflannistarth
Summary: Jaime wakes up in the middle of the night to realize that Brienne, the love of his life, has only ever danced with one person in her entire life. And that person is Renly fucking Baratheon. Determined to leave Renly in the dust, Jaime rouses Brienne to ask her to a dance in the dying light of their fireplace in their room at Winterfell.(AU where Jaime is not the class-act clown the show made him out to be in 8,05.)





	sweet music playing in the dark

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this post ](https://sassbewitchedmyass.tumblr.com/post/185461577558/ok-but-like-jaime-bringing-up-brienne-dancing-with) by @sassbewitchedmyass on tumblr. 
> 
> I diverted and expanded on a lot of things still so I hope you guys still enjoy it!

Winterfell is cold. Not as cold as it used to be when he first got here, but cold enough still to have Jaime wake up late at night and throw in some wood to rekindle the hearth. He’d have done it earlier if he hadn’t gotten _distracted_ \-- if he hadn’t been so _utterly_ _busy_ kissing Brienne the second they’d returned to their room. Maybe it was supposed to be a light kiss, _maybe_ -  but Brienne had deepened it and once her hands were in his hair, tugging a little rougher than Jaime was used to, he had kissed her back with mad abandon, eager for more.

Everything else was _simply forgotten._

There had been no looking back, really. Jaime recalls, when she had bit his lip not long ago and the memory makes his lower lip tingle; deep down a part of him had only _dreamt_ that the Maid Of Tarth would want him this way -- she was new to all of this, he hadn’t let himself hope that she would actually-- well, he _had_ hoped that maybe one day in the future when she was more comfortable and he was bolder, he’d whisper that he’d _dreamt_ of her upon him with her calloused hands holding his wrists in place, maybe then she would--- but _no_ , Brienne was keener than he had anticipated. _Thank gods for that_ , Jaime huffs in relief, because when she’d been on top of him, kissing him, pinning him, in complete control with him at her mere mercy… that had been the only sight he’d want to drink for ages. No dream could ever compare. When Brienne had pushed him back on the bed with that wild determination in her eyes, she had _swept_ the literal ground from under his feet.

He comes back to bed though, sneaking under the covers as stealthily as he can only to find that Brienne’s outstretched arm has lazily stretched all the way to his side. As if she’d unconsciously sensed his absence and reached out for him in the short while that he was gone. As if _she’d missed him_ \-- the gesture is so unfamiliar yet a thousand times more sweeter than any spoken admission of love, it makes Jaime’s throat tighten, his heart feels so full he fears it might burst.

Slowly, so as to not wake her, Jaime slips back in, carefully raising her hand to his lips and kissing her knuckles. He can’t help the smile that’s broken on his lips, he holds her hand in his palm, steady and warm, leisurely rubbing his thumb on the back of her palm, hoping his touch will somehow convey all the love he’s ever left unspoken.

She looks softer in her sleep, _content_ even. That ever-present scowl that he loves annoying out of her is smoothed out, replaced by that pink flush on her cheeks instead. Like when he leans in and whispers something moderately scandalous in her ear and she blushes that colour, it’s so easy on her cheeks, the way it spreads all the way down her shoulders and her chest, all the way down to her belly ( _even her thighs_ , to his more-than-pleasant discovery) and he wants to kiss her _there_ \-- it probably makes him a bit of a dick but he loves that he can draw such a reaction from her.

In the flickering firelight, he counts the freckles on her face-- she has seventy-eight of those-- he has counted them before, but it never hurts to count again. Her freckles are like an array of sun-kissed stars as if waiting for his lips to make a constellation out of them. Even though her best features, her _astonishing_ blue eyes, are hidden from his gaze, she is irresistible. Her slightly parted lips only make him want to kiss her _more_.

Her face isn’t pretty no, not in the conventional sense, but it tells a story. The scar on her ruined cheek, her twice-broken nose, her many freckles, her eyes-- _gods her eyes_ , they all tell this story of a remarkable woman who had wrought her way into his heart and made her home there. It tells the story of her incredible honour, her relentless determination and her desire to do good, to protect those who could not protect themselves. A _true_  knight of the Seven Kingdoms. A smile tugs at his lips, beaming with pride. He doesn't have much to give, a beggardly fool that he is, begging for acceptance at her door... but gave her that-- the knighthood that had been hers all along, a right that lesser men had denied her. He scoffs at them, _what do they know?_  They have always underestimated her, been thoroughly unkind and in part, cruel to her and she had beaten them back into the dust where they belong. It makes his heart swell with pride. He is in love with the most phenomenal woman in this world and there's not a thing he would change about her.

He's in love with her.

The thought is terrifying and exhilarating and everything that coming home feels like. A home he's never truly known before.

 _Gods if I had known her when I was younger_ , Jaime muses, perhaps his life would have gone down a _very_ different road then altogether. Maybe they’d both be a little less damaged, a little less worse for wear. Maybe she’d have sparred with him, humbled him when he deserved it (and he would’ve deserved it a lot). Maybe if he grew up with her, he wouldn’t have fallen head-first into Cersei’s venomous wiles. Maybe she’d have asked him why he killed Aerys, he would have told her, of course. He would’ve trusted her with everything even then, just like he does now. Maybe that burden at ten-and-a-seven wouldn’t have been his to bear alone, maybe his title of _Kingslayer_ wouldn’t be whispered with insult. Would he still have taken the White Cloak? Yes, he thinks, he’d have been a part of the Kingsguard because of himself, not Cersei… Maybe he would’ve given it up as well when Tywin asked, if it meant marrying Brienne and becoming Lord Of The Rock. That life doesn’t sound so bad anymore when she is a part of it.

 _But what if she hadn’t found him?_ Jaime’s heart chills at the thought. If he hadn’t been captured at the Battle Of The Whispering Woods, if he hadn’t lost his sword hand, his pride and armour… would he still be in love with Cersei? Would he still be cowering to the whims of his sister, devoid of an identity? Her mirror, her shadow --just like she had wanted for the both of them? Would he have _died_ with his twin then, instead of _living_ with Brienne?

Jaime shakes the thoughts away. _No_ , he decides, _there can’t a universe where she wouldn’t find me_. There can’t be a road that won’t lead him to her eventually, to this bed with her, basked in the warmth of the woman he loves. He was hers for all the reasons in the world, wretched and divine. Jaime silently vows that he would be hers till the end of time.

She stirs beside him, huddling herself closer to him in her sleep. Her legs tangle with his and Jaime pulls her closer still, her head resting in the nook of his neck. Her breath soft and heavy, tickling his shoulder.

 _She is so delicate_ , Jaime admires as he traces a finger over the freckles on her shoulder, _so delicate and yet so strong_. The Warrior and the Maiden incarnate is his lady knight, spectacular and singular like no other, in this realm and beyond.

His thoughts drift again. Brienne of Tarth growing up as the only child of Lord Selwyn, beating all the squires to dust with her wooden sword, running about on that green island. The images tug at his heartstrings. Jaime remembers gazing upon Tarth from afar once when he was enroute to Dorne. It was so green, so lush. He had found in himself the strange urge to dock at Tarth, _despite_ knowing that she wasn’t there. The blue of the water had reminded him so fondly of her, of honour, of duties and oaths, of the boy he had once been, the knight he had once dreamt of being. _Father give her strength_ , he had silently prayed for her, wherever she was. It was followed by a sudden pang of feeling her stark absence by his side. The waters are beautiful, true. But they cannot compete with the blue of eyes.

Her eyes, _gods her eyes_.

How could anyone have ever composed a coherent sentence after gazing into those eyes that put sapphire to shame? How could anyone not have tumbled headfirst into the endlessness of her gaze like he had? Men had not been kind to her, he thinks bitterly, he hadn’t been either initially. He had been a cruel wretched fool then, he would take back all of those words now if he could. He would slap every idiot who had ever called her names, starting with himself. He would probably put that golden hand to use and smack every idiot in the Seven Kingdoms who has ever uttered anything remotely unkind to her.

Perhaps except Renly Baratheon.

A  small frown settles on his face as he remembers how Podrick had told him about the time Brienne had danced with Renly Baratheon. She had loved Renly, Jaime knew it; Pod knew it too. The boy had probably suspected Jaime’s interest in his Lady Brienne, and had brought up Renly just to get a rise out of him. Sure it was nice that she got to dance, that Renly had danced with her and Jaime wanted to be happy for her. But Jaime was nothing if not a very green-eyed lover and for once he had a woman who loved him freely, no games, no secrets, no shame. So of course he was jealous of Renly fucking Baratheon.

Renly had gotten to dance with Brienne. He had been _the only person_ who had ever danced with Brienne. And it irked Jaime to no end. So what if Jaime hates dancing anyway? Renly had been the only person to dance with Brienne and  Jaime was furiously determined to dethrone him.

“Brienne” he shakes her shoulder lightly, calling her name again.

She groans in response and Jaime shakes her shoulder again.

“What is it, what do you want?” she finally mumbles, her head only nestling deeper into his neck and for a moment Jaime’s determination waivers. Maybe dancing isn’t that important after all, having her so close is all that matters, Renly never held her so close ever, ha! But the image of Renly’s dumb smiling face pops into his head, taunting him and he huffs. _I’ll fucking show you Renly_ , Jaime swears.

“Brienne get up,” he knows he sounds like he’s begging but he doesn’t care, “Brienne get up we have to dance!”

“What?” she is almost properly awake now, “Dance? Now?”

“I just realized that Renly Baratheon is the only man you’ve danced with.”

“And?” Brienne’s brows furrow in sleepy confusion.

“And that just won’t do!” Jaime’s voice has that slight tinge of exasperation, “I won’t be outdone by Renly fucking Baratheon, Brienne! We must dance right now!” he insists.

“I can’t dance!” she shrugs, flushing slightly out of embarrassment, “and why do you want to dance anyway?”

“I can’t dance either, but I _want_ to dance. With you.”

Brienne suspiciously narrows her eyes at him and he only whispers a soft “please” in return. Her features soften as she takes his outstretched hand, “fine.” she resigns, a smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “but _only_ with you.”

“Only with you” Jaime repeats in response, pulling her out of the bed and square against his bare chest.

He leads her to the front of the fireplace. Their quarters are a bit snug and it’s only here that they have enough room to dance. She rests her arms on his shoulders and Jaime’s fingers graze the tender skin of her hips, holding her close. His stump hand is slung around her waist, holding her flush against him.

He blinks once, drinking in the sight of her, Brienne glowing a mellow amber in the firelight, her messy hair sticking out in the way he adores (like a soft halo around her head, set alight by the ember glow of the firelight) and her eyes slightly puffy with sleep. _Gods, does he love her_.

“You ready, My Lady?”

“Mmhm” she nods.

Jaime starts to sway softly, humming a tune so tender that it’s for their ears only. Brienne doesn’t think she’s heard it before. His eyes are a curious shade of green, brimming almost and it quells all of Brienne’s doubts concerning mockery or insincerity or anything like. It's just her. And Jaime. Dancing, for some godsforsaken reason and it's whimsical and she might not admit it aloud but she loves it.

She presses a soft kiss to his cheek, before resting her chin in the crook of his neck, _feeling_ more than hearing the tune resonate from the depths of his throat. It’s a lovely tune, albeit unfamiliar yet made endearing by the liquid honey that is Jaime’s voice.

They stay that way for _how_ long she doesn’t know. Time seems to stand still as they sway softly to Jaime’s humming.

 _What song is this?_ she'd asked him but Jaime had just shrugged. _Don’t know_ , he answered, _I’m just making it up as I go_. _Do you like it?_ She nods, she did love it so. She loved how his fingers caressed her back, leaving sweet shivers in their wake. How light his shoulders felt as they swayed. He looked... happy.

And it made her happy to see him happy, simple as that.

He spins her a couple of times too, stretching on his tiptoes only for a moment before pulling her back against him, fitting snugly against her like that’s where he’s belonged all along.

“Brienne?”

She kisses the bruise she had sucked onto his shoulder with two nights ago. Jaime shivers. He has marked her in so many places and so endearingly that she felt it was only right that she return the favour. If the noises that came out of Jaime's mouth when she loved him like that were anything to go by, he was not in the slightest opposed to the idea. It makes her blood sing, so she lets her lips linger at his throat as she mumbles a reply.

“Mmhm?” she prompts against his neck. There’s a beat before he continues and she could almost feel his heartbeat speed up as he swallows, out of nervousness or desire she doesn't have time to guess because-

“Marry me.”

She pulls back abruptly, needing to look into his eyes, instinctively needing to know that this isn’t some cruel jape. She knows he wouldn’t ridicule her but years and years of damage have made her wary. When her eyes meet his, she realizes his gaze is unwavering, serious and perhaps tinged with fear. _This is as new to him as it is to me_ , she realizes, _he’s just as afraid as I am_.

“You sure?” she asks in a small voice. Being with Jaime is great, but a part of her has always been afraid that their time in Winterfell was numbered, that he would wake up one day and leave her, and she’ll be left alone to collect the broken pieces of herself all alone out here in the cold. A thousand insecurities rise to the surface, quelled only by that look of unwavering adoration in Jaime’s eyes.

“I’ve never been so sure of anything else in my life.” his tone bears that blunt honesty that she needs and Brienne breathes with relief. Jaime’s eyes are too earnest to mean anything but.

So she nods furiously, her eyes watering up without her permission and words seem to get lost in her throat, “yes.” she croaks out.

“Yes? You’ll marry me?” Jaime has to ask again, he has to hear it from her lips, the first time felt too much like a dream. He had done his best to hide the fear of his rejection but it’s impossible to hide his relief, the joy in his voice now.

“Yes, yes. I will marry you.” she says, finding her voice again. And Jaime lunges at her, pressing a chaste kiss on her lips before her fingers curl into his hair and Jaime has no choice but to deepen the kiss, dipping her as he does, his mouth hungry and wanting and _happy_ , oh he's never been this happy it only fuels his desire for her, for Brienne, his soon-to-be _wife._  He cant stop kissing her now, her eyes her nose, her lips, her throat... he can't stop wanting her and he knows in every inch of him that he will never want anyone but her ever again. _She's the one for me,_  and oh that thought is almost like getting drunk! He never wants to stop drinking her! She is tender and wanting with her kisses, embracing him completely in her warmth; she accepts him for good or for worse, in battle and in bed and it's more than he could have ever asked for, so he gives himself to her heart and soul, groans into her mouth and swallows her moans as he pulls her even closer and still not close enough. When they pull away, it's out of reluctance and the fact that they’re both a little out of breath.

“I should perhaps write to Lord Selwyn,” he whispers, “tell him that his _only_ daughter has decided to marry an old cripple of a Lannister.”

He is teasing, but Brienne can hear the unsteadiness in his voice. She always sees through him and he can't bring himself to hate that he's so transparent with her. Holding his gaze, she reaches out and cradles his face in her hands, letting her thumb rub the corner of his lower lip. Jaime tilts his head just a fraction to kiss it so.

“You’re an ineffable man,” she tells him, “it took me a while, but I got around to loving you, didn’t I? I’m sure he will too.”

A thousand emotions overcome Jaime’s face, but watching the grin breaking on his face, Brienne almost scowls. It’s hard to be irritated with him with those green eyes are shining, emphasize how genuinely he’s smiling.

“So you _love_ me, huh?” He almost purrs like the smug lion that he is. His voice like velvet and Brienne looks away immediately. She can feel her ears burning.

“Shut up.”

Jaime can’t take his eyes off the red that spreading through her cheeks and down her neck, his smirk growing fonder as he hooks his index finger under his chin.

“Hey, look at me,” his voice is as tender as his touch.

She looks up, her hesitant eyes meeting his affectionate emerald ones. There’s a flicker of hurt in them before he whispers, “are you _ashamed_ of being in love with me?”

“No” she shakes her head and her grip on him tightens reassuringly, “but I am afraid.”

He doesn’t push her, he just rubs comforting circles on the back of her palm, patiently waiting for her to continue.

“I am afraid that this fantasy will end. You’ll wake up and realize you can have any woman you choose in this world,” her voice is small, barely above a whimper, “why me?”

“Brienne…” he tilts her head up gently to notice the tears threatening at the corner of her sapphire blue eyes. _How will he ever convince her how much she means to him?_ But he tries. “I don’t care what women I can choose from. I don’t care. You’re all I care about,” he leans in to rest his forehead against hers, “I know once i said we don't choose who we love, but I was wrong, a bitter fool that I was. _We do choose who we love, Brienne. And I choose you._ In this life, in a million to come, or a million past-- _I choose you_. I’ll always choose you, again and again and again. Kind, honourable, _breathtaking_ as you are, you made me believe there is still good in this world, you gave me the courage to pursue that good myself. What kind of fool would I be if I didn’t love the woman who taught me how beautiful love could be?”

Brienne shakes her head in disbelief, “are you saying you...?”

“I have shared my darkest secrets with you, I would give me life for you if you asked, I rode North to die with you. You know the best of me, the worst of me,” Jaime shrugs, “I respect you,” he presses a light kiss on her forehead, “I trust you,” another kiss on her lips, “and _gods,_ Brienne do I love you” he kisses the scar running down her cheek, “ _all of you_.”

Jaime pulls back to gaze at her face, “why else would you think I’d ask you to marry me?” The sincerity in her eyes are so strong that he falters.

 _I owe her the whole truth_ , he decides with a shaky breath, “I’m an old man Brienne, a cripple and a beggarly Lannister without any gold. I have broken my oaths, dishonoured the White Cloak, I--” he gulps, “I have killed and I have hurt, I have done terrible things. But you,” his eyes light up as his gaze shifts to her again, “you are a beacon of light, of hope. You are strong and gentle, ever so gentle. You protect as you love, fiercely. You’re a knight in every sense that I am not, Brienne. You are young still, you can do so much better than a miserable old man with one hand” Jaime can’t hold her gaze anymore, the shame seeping through his very bones, “if anyone is the unworthy one here, it is me.”

He feels more than sees Brienne shift as she takes his stump in her hand. He watches in a daze as she brings it to her lips and kisses the angry red scar that adorns it. “Perhaps you did all those bad things, Jaime,” her voice is low and calm, and he feels this intense desire to melt into it for the rest of eternity. Her eyes meet his and there’s the irrefutable certainty, “but you also jumped into a bearpit, without a weapon or a hand, to save me. You took Riverrun without bloodshed, you saved me countless times as we battled the dead. You killed Aerys and saved the people of King’s Landing. You’ve more honour in you than you give yourself credit for, _Ser_. You are the finest knight of the Seven Kingdoms, I believe it in my heart. And I choose you, as well.”

Overwhelmed, Jaime just blinks at her. _Did she really believe that? Did she really see him so differently?_ Through her eyes, he could almost be worthy. _Almost_. Unable to form a reply, Jaime just gulps.

“Wench, you’re wrong I’m not the finest Knight in the seven kingdoms,” he snarls playfully, leaning in to trail a kiss down the corner of her jaw, “you are.”

“oh!” She blushes heavily at the compliment, and _oh how he loves it_.  Jaime guffaws and Brienne glares at his reaction.

“You think you’re _so clever, aren't_ you, you old oaf?” she topples him towards the bed, climbing on top of him. The playful determination, that hunger in her eyes, the realization that she _wants_ him _just as much as he wants her_ \- it has him hardening at the sight of her.

“Why yes, I am,” he croaks, his voice low and raspy, as he lets his fingers graze up her strong thighs - she shivers- and he smirks in that agonizingly beautiful way, arching his neck to kiss the bear-claw marks where her shoulder meets her neck. She shudders, her breath quickening and Jaime hisses against her skin, challenging her, “and what are you going to do about it, _Ser_ Brienne?”

She clamps his wrists down on the bed as she kisses him, marking a spot on his neck that can’t be hidden by neither his beard nor any collar or cloak. Jaime groans under her, rapid breaths and low growls forming in his throat as his hips arch up to meet hers, as she unmakes him with every inch of her skin, every word from her lips. She likes being the one in control, having him sprawled out under her; he is so responsive to her hands, her lips... gasping, growling and a blubbering mess; despite her inexperience it gives her a confidence she never thought she’d ever have before. It’s what drives her -- his lips quivering with unspoken promises, his pupils blown with love, lust and everything in between.

 _Is this what it’s like to love a knight?_ Jaime wonders, commiting the sight of her to memory. She is so powerful and brazen, eyes hooded and her mouth making every kind of _indecent_ noise... the raw abandon of her riding him like he's _hers, only hers-_ it almost tips him over the edge and he has to tighten his grip on her thighs to keep from spilling- but then she clenches him within her walls and it's a whole new kind of sweet, breathless agony that overtakes him. He has only a second to rasp out her name before his eyes roll back to his head as she rides him to his peak and her own with an echoing moan. She collapses on his chest, legs trembling and Jaime’s hand runs his fingers comfortingly upon her back, holding her with his other arm.

Brienne is busy trying to get her heartbeat to fall back in pace when he whispers, breathless against her ear, “Tarth.”

“What?” She cranes her head to look at him.

“Tarth. We should get married in Tarth.” he is still breathing shallow, “It’s not sickly gold like King’s Landing, or boring white like Winterfell. It’s so lively with it's roaring greens and fantastic blues. It's perfect.”

Brienne arches a platinum blond eyebrow in query, “have you been to Tarth?”

“Oh, no I was on a ship to Dorne. I only saw it from a distance. It made me think of you. _A lot_.”

Brienne is amused, “oh did it now?”

“Come to think of it…” Jaime starts to say as Brienne shifts off him, resting only her folded forearms on his chest and her head atop it, staring at him with those bright blue eyes. The dying embers of the fireplace give the room a low amber light, making her look even more mesmerizing. Jaime could drown himself in those eyes, fall into them for all of eternity and keep falling still.

She’s drawing lazy circles on his chest and Jaime can’t remember a thing about what he had been saying, or thinking for that matter.

“You were saying…” she prompts. She looks absolutely entrancing after they’ve made love, it gives her this unearthly glow that makes Jaime want to take her once more, all over again, to _never_ stop.

“What was I saying?” he asks, hypnotized.

“You’re an idiot, you know that?” Brienne teases.

“But I _am_ the idiot you chose” He defends, finally coming to remember what he had been talking about. “Yes, about Tarth. Come to think of it. I was already in love with you back then, even before I knew it myself.” Jaime racks his head, trying to pinpoint the exact moment he did fall in love with her, but he can’t.

“Gods, Brienne I can’t remember a time I wasn’t in love with you,” he murmurs at the slow realization. Was it the time he had to watch her ride away from him with Podrick, leaving an aching longing in his chest that he couldn’t identify? No it had been long before that, long before Oathkeeper, long before Harrenhal, long before the bearpit, or even before he lost his hand. _Had it been the first time she had beaten him in their swordplay?_ Probably. But it could just have been the first time he’d looked into her big beautiful blue eyes. Jaime can’t tell anymore. She has integrated herself into his life so deeply that there remains no distinction between his respect for her and his love for her. It’s all one and the same, all the roads ridden by his feelings, winding as they may be, reach to her in the end, finds solace in her arms.

“I know when I fell in love with you” the room is dark now and her voice is so soft that he might’ve just imagined it.

“Was it the bath in Harrenhal, when you saw me hot and dirty and naked?” he jokes and she punches him lightly in response.

“It was Harrenhal but not why you think! Or _maybe_ a little bit, yeah” she admits and Jaime sniggers ( _shut up Jaime!_ she hisses and it only has him sniggering harder), “when you told me about Aerys… it redefined my worldview of oaths and promises in a lot of ways. I saw you for the first time _as you really are._ Not as a Lannister or the Kingslayer or Lord Commander of the Kingsguard... just _you_. Just ...Jaime.” her eyes which had glazed over in recollection now refocusses and she beams, taking her reddening cheeks into her stride, “and I haven’t stopped loving you since.”

It takes Jaime's breath away.

“Well, I should hope so wench," he manages weakly, "you'd break your husband's heart if you'd been in love with that Tormund instead."

She giggles, a sound so open and girly and Jaime pulls her to him, smiling in the dark, “We’d better get some sleep, Sansa will lose her mind when she hears that we are engaged.”

“She will have my head” Jaime murmurs darkly.

“She…” Brienne pauses for a second, looking for the appropriate word, “... _tolerates_ you!”

“And Arya’s going to put a knife to my throat, I just know it.” he continues in the same dark tone.

“Podrick will be happy though, and Gendry too” Brienne says enthusiastically, “but Bran probably already knows.” she adds bitterly.

Jaime is quiet for a second, holding his breath as he runs something over in his head. She can hear him thinking.

“Dearest _wife,”_ Jaime sighs with an overarching exasperation, “when do you think we became the de facto parents of such a chaotic bunch of kids?”

“I don’t know,” Brienne shrugs, having been wondering the same thing herself, “but I guess we found our family, _sort of_.”

Having come from broken families themselves, for both Jaime and Brienne, it is an unusual feeling. It’s not strictly definable but it is _unusual_ ; loving, trusting and sharing a home with these kids who had not only let them in through their walls, but also accepted them. It may not fix their own wounds, but it gives them all a sensation of belonging, a tether that holds them all together, enough to have inside jokes, enough to tease one another, and throw snowballs at each other’s faces, laughing, making memories. They are more like a family than Jaime or Brienne had ever had.

Never in Seven Hells would Jaime Lannister have thought that Winterfell would be what he would come to call his home. But with Brienne here, and Podrick who was already like a son to him. And Gendry who he got along with well enough. And Arya who he genuinely thought was the scariest of his kids. _His kids_ , funny how only a couple of months will endear the human heart. Sansa was still wary of him, but she was starting to trust him. After he had killed Cersei to save the realm, Sansa’s respect for him had seemed to grow tenfold, even though she made an effort to not show it. She did make him Hand of The Queen, though. He had fought dragons and the dead, and yet Sansa making him _her_ Hand Of The Queen was the most surprising thing to have ever happened to him. He had readily accepted it. He had many amends to make, and the least he could do was start by helping the girl whose family his past actions had broken.

It’s not ideal, what they have here, but it’s _family_ still. Besides, more than anything, _he has Brienne_. His honourable confidant, his love… and soon to be, _his wife_. The very thought of it makes him giddy.

 _It's true that Winterfell is cold,_  Jaime might scoff all he wants about how much he hates the North, but he won't deny that _it's their love that keeps him warm._


End file.
